Dear Mr Stark
by Peterisconfused
Summary: Peter misses Mr. Tony Stark really, really, badly. To cope, he writes letters to his mentor about, well, life. Turns out it was a better idea than he anticipated when he came up with it and will help more people than he thought.
1. Chapter 1: Peter

_Dear Mr. Stark, _

Peter thought a moment, holding his pen suspended right above the paper. This was his 769th letter to Tony Stark ever since 2023. Ever since it all went down. Ever since he had to say goodbye for the last time. Life had gone on. The world had moved on from Tony Stark.

That didn't mean Peter had. Or Pepper, for that matter.

_Dear Mr. Stark, _

_Morgan's doing fine. More than fine, actually. She's the best in her second-grade class. She got it from her dad, I guess. She got an A+ on the test today. A math test. She likes math, but likes engineering more. She can do that already, and she likes looking at your old suits. She asks if she'll fit in there someday, too, and when she does can she save the world just like her daddy? _

_I wasn't sure what to say to her. Because, well, saving the world's awesome and all, but there's always that one price to pay that I don't want her to. I don't want her to die or have to watch someone else die, Mr. Stark. _

_Luckily Pepper came and got her before I had to answer. Pepper's doing great, but I know she still cries at night when I leave and Morgan's asleep. She doesn't let anyone see, but I know she's still grieving. I know because I do, too. Cry, I mean. Wow, we all miss you._

Peter wiped away a tear he knew was coming and stared at the paper his letter was on. Why was he writing these, anyway? It wasn't like Mr. Stark was ever going to read them. Nobody probably would other than Peter. Was it his way of holding on and pretending that everything was okay? A journal? A diary? Whatever it was, he couldn't tell you if it helped or not.

Aunt May, Ned, MJ, Pepper- they had all encouraged him to talk about it. Therapy, maybe, would help. Getting all those feelings out. After a night of dinner eaten in silence Aunt May had suggested a session with the counselor. Peter had adamantly refused. He didn't want to talk about it with someone else.

_Oh, did I tell you about how things are going with the Avengers? Sam and Bucky are still working as their team-like thingy, and right now they're on some top-secret mission. I know that they're fighting some crazy group called the Night People? I dunno but like that's what Karen said- not that I use Karen to hack into secret files or anything, why would I even do that? _

_OK, maybe they don't tell me some things. Like stuff they know I'll try to help them with. Sometimes. But I don't know. I don't really want to get involved in situations that don't involve me because, well, _Morgan_. She needs me, I like to think. Well, I sometimes pick her up from school or watch her when Pepper needs a break (which is often though Happy helps her with stuff). Yesterday I took Morgan to get some churros and we hung out on top of a building. Nothing life-threatening or anything, so you don't have to worry. Besides, I'd be able to catch her if she fell. _

_That friendly-neighborhood Spiderman thing is kind of working out, kind of not because I'm not just limited to the friendly neighborhood anymore. Not after the incident. _

The incident. That was what Peter used and everyone else did when they were talking about it, at least to him. Everyone had treated him three ways: 1. Like a fragile flower that would die if the wind blew the wrong way; 2. A tough dude that needed to get back on his feet, and 3. Peter Parker. A friend. That was MJ and Ned, who had both dusted when _he _snapped his fingers. _He _because Peter couldn't write, think, or say _his_ name without freezing or shaking uncontrollably. He hadn't since Flash had said the name in the middle of gym and he had frozen. He was told later he'd completely broken down, not responding to his name, just shaking and staring at nothing.

His wasn't even the worst of it. He knew how everyone had suffered worse than he had, especially those who had had to watch them dust away. Those who had lived the post-apocalyptic world for five years and had watched their loved ones dust away. He had it good. But that didn't stop him from breaking down whenever the name was uttered or read.

_But anyway. Wanda's visiting Wakanda for the weekend- there's a tongue-twister for you, ha-ha- 'cause she and Okoye and Shuri are going out to test new weapons. I'm jealous. Shuri's weapons are awesome. She's shown me them before and holy wow are they amazing. She didn't let me test them, though. She told me she doesn't trust me with a highly powerful weapon that could blast a hole through five walls in a row and melt every single one just as good as the previous one. Makes sense, though._

_We haven't heard from the Guardians lately, though remember that transmission we got from them? Well, Shuri un-garbled it fully so that it says "We found them" "Come see it's amazing" "Coordinates are 4" "Dammit, Rocket, get this thing to work-" and that was it. Captain Carol (wow, it still sounds weird calling her that, you'd think like Captain Marvel or something would fit better or like General or something) went out to look for them. I'm not sure when she'll come back, but she's still rocking the haircut. _

_Funny thing, when Scott asked her what her love life was like she laughed dryly then said, "How was your Karaoke Date Night with Hope?" that shut him up. I still can't find out what happened at that Karaoke Date Night. But Hope, Hank, and Scott are doing great! So is Cassie. I still can't get over that she's my age but technically if I hadn't y'know what I'd be, like, five years older than her. It's so weird! _

_Anyway, we all miss you. I promise to take care of Morgan and Pepper, be a friendly neighborhood Spiderman, and remember that the suit's not what makes me._

_Bye, _

_Peter :) _

Peter put down the pen and stapled the papers together. Then he got on his stomach, dug under his bed, and grabbed a shoebox labeled _Box #3_. He pulled it from underneath the bed, opened it, and carefully put down the letter on top of the many others, then closed the box quickly and shoved it under his bed as deep as it would go. Then his phone buzzed with a reminder from Ned to clean their dorm and minutes later a text from Pepper asking if he could help watch Morgan tonight.

He texted Ned that he did already and a funny gif of a cat and to Pepper an ofc, anytime, I love spending time w/ Morgan with a smily face emoji.

Tomorrow, another letter. In the meantime, he had a babysitting job to catch.

_I hope you're proud of me, Mr. Stark. I really do. _


	2. Chapter 2: Clint

Clint was visiting the Avengers again with his kids since it was a long weekend for them and so they'd have plenty of time. It was strange, because most of the memories that made him gasp awake at night, shaking uncontrollably, was rooted there. At the same time, though, the good outweighed the terrible. And it was important to keep in touch with friends, especially when those friends depended on you even just a little.

It had dawned on him recently that he and Bruce were the only original Avengers left. Everyone else was... gone. Steve had gone about two years ago, over 100 and an old man. Thor was off somewhere in space with the wacky group that called themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy, and the rest... he stopped the car, just in case. Nate squealed, hushed by Cooper. "What is it, dad?" Lila asked, concerned. She had been for a while, as had Laura.

He remembered their tears when he told them about their Auntie Nat.

He squeezed his eyes shut so it would go away. _Let me go..._ he inhaled sharply and focused on his daughter. He mustered a smile, hoping it was genuine for her sake. "I'm fine," he lied. "Just... jumpy."

She gave him _the look_. The one Laura gave him often when she was seeing right through him. This used to be mostly employed when he'd been caught stealing sweets from the pantry. "You know, it's okay to-"

"Back in your seat, Sweetheart, or your mom'll kill me." he ruffled her hair affectionately.

She got back into her seat, but he felt her worried gaze on him the whole drive there.

Their first stop was Queens. Lately, the kids had been taking a liking to Peter, because he told funny jokes, discussed pop culture with them, and had, to quote Cooper, "cool web powers." However, by the time they arrived, the kids were passed out in the back save Lila, who was reading a book by flashlight. "Hey," Lila whispered when she caught him, "can you go ahead, please, dad? Let him know we're here? Maybe we can see him later or something. I'll watch Nate and Cooper."

Clint frowned, fussing with his jacket sleeve. "Are you sure? I-"

"Dad." she turned off her flashlight. "I'll be fine. I know you're still worried and a bit paranoid about us after the Decimation, but we'll be okay." she patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Now go! We're alright."

He sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Whatever you say, Hawkeye." he kissed her forehead. "Oh, and remember-"

"Yes, the bow and arrows are between your seat, dad. I know," she sighed, smiling nonetheless and clicked her flashlight on again.

He smiled. "You always do, sweetheart."

She smiled back over the cover of her book. "Thanks, dad. Now quit stalling."

He knocked on Peter's dorm, after about ten minutes of wandering aimlessly wondering if the number was right. It had been, though, so here he was. After a minute he started considering the possibility Peter was asleep and turned around, just as he heard Peter say, "who is it?" in a voice that indicated he was very, very tired and had not had nearly enough sleep. One he'd heard frequently among his kids. And around Nat... he stopped himself and made himself focus on reality again. Push the memories to the back of his head, just like he'd been taught at SHIELD.

"Hey, kid," he replied. "Sorry if it's too late, but-"

"Ooh, hi, Mr. Barton! Hawk- I mean, Clint! C'mon in, the door's unlocked," Peter called back excitedly, weirding out Clint a bit- the kid had so much energy, it was unreal- but he opened the door anyway and grinned at Peter and his messy bedhead, taking note of Peter's roommate, Ned, snoring in his bed, a fedora perched on his head.

"You know, you really shouldn't leave the door to your room unlocked," he said, coming to Peter. He was sitting at a desk, two pieces of lined paper in front of him and a pencil in his hands.

"Yeah, but I'm Spiderman!" Peter protested, causing Clint to laugh.

"True. But still." he peered over his shoulder. "What're you writing?"

"A letter," Peter said casually.

Clint read the first few lines, in Peter's semi-messy handwriting that was on the Christmas, Valentine's, Easter's, and various other holiday's cards. Peter had sent one for Tony and Nat's death for the past two years. It had made Clint cry. The first card had read, _Natasha, the Black Widow, was one of the bravest women I have ever had the privilege of knowing. She was the first female Avenger, and even without superpowers or special equipment to enable her like a majority of the other heroes did, and a past that haunted her in so many ways, she was just as awesome as any of the others. She proved that women can be amazing superheroes, too, right up there with the others. She fought many battles, and in the end, she made the ultimate sacrifice to save the world. She will always be remembered as the woman who saved the universe and paved the way for other female superheroes, too. We miss you and love you, Natasha Romanoff. _

If Clint hadn't already been distracted by the date, this made it almost worse. Almost. It also helped so, so much, to know that his best friend would always be remembered and recognized by the world. He stuck the card and its following one on the memorial board he and Laura and the kids had made. Pictures, favorite things, and this. The board was hung proudly on the wall in the living room.

Peter's letter was just as heartfelt and tear-jerking. The part Clint was reading read, _Morgan says she likes churros a lot but what she likes even more is spending time with me. I'm glad she thinks that and I wish you were here to do the same things with her. I think she'd like that. But Happy's really helping, too- did I mention that? He's taking us out for cheeseburgers tomorrow, your favorite place, and- _

Clint stopped reading. "Is that... a letter to Tony?"

Peter looked up, startled. "Yeah..." he reddened. "You're the first person who really knows about them."

Clint's eyes widened. "Oh! Sorry, Pete. If I'm not supposed to, I'll-"

"It's fine, Mr. Barton," Peter said quickly. "It's fine. They're letters I write to help with... y' know, the thoughts I have and things I wish I could say. Have you heard of fanfiction before?"

"Uuuh." he thought. What was that thingy again? Oh, yeah. "Stories written by fans that aren't real."

He nodded earnestly. "Yeah. Sort of like that, but not really."

Clint nodded too, starting to understand. "So... does it help?"

Peter shrugged. "Well, it's better than keeping it in, and if you're not the type who wants to talk about these things, then yeah..." his voice trailed off. He seemed honestly sort of embarrassed, and since it seemed like a private diary entry Clint understood.

He patted Peter on the shoulder. "Thanks, kid. It's nice you're doing this, and if it helps you should keep on doing it. Can I borrow some paper and a pencil, on a different note?" Peter nodded, digging in his drawer and handing him a No. 2 HB pencil and three sheets of lined paper. Clint gratefully folded the paper and tucked it in his pocket and continued. "-but it's getting late, and I should probably go because you need your sleep and the kids are probably getting restless."

Peter brightened. "You brought LiNaCoo?"

Clint smiled. "Yeah." LiNaCoo was the mash-up nickname that Peter, Ned, and the kids had invented that mashed their names together so you wouldn't have to say _Lila-Nate-Cooper_. "Lila says sorry she can't say hi, and maybe we'll see you some other time."

Peter beamed. "Sounds great."

Clint got up, heading towards the door. He paused when he opened the door, turning around to face Peter. "And kid?"

Peter looked up from his scribbling. "Yeah, Mr. Barton?"

"Good luck with that letter." he closed the door softly and waved back, then left, hands in his jacket pockets.

Minutes after he returned, Lila thanked him for returning and dozed off, clearly tired. He'd been gone for almost thirty minutes- not bad, but it was one in the morning already. He stroked her hair and gently lay a blanket on her- one of the cheesy Hawkeye ones at the dollar store that sold less than the Thor ones for some reason, one that Lila had, laughing, pressured him into buying- and pulled out the lined paper and pencil Peter had given him. Pressing the paper to the dashboard, he started to write.

_Dear Nat, _

_Hey. There are so many things I need to say to you. So many things I want to. You were my best friend, and now you're gone. It should've been me. _

_But maybe you were right all along. And, as I write this with Lila, Cooper, and Nate in the back, I see now that you were looking out for me like you always have. Remember when Loki took over and you helped me? You've always been so supportive, and I never appreciated you enough as I should have. You knew how much I meant to my family and how much they meant to me. You've always looked out for me, Nat. I wanted to look out for you, for once. _

_I still feel like I've failed you, failed everyone, and when Bruce looks at me I know he sometimes probably sees a failure who let you die. He probably thinks it should've been me. Is he right, Nat? Because although I have a family, you do, too. Us. A family you sacrificed yourself for. _

Clint brushed away tears before they fell on the paper. A wayward one hit, though, but he kept on writing.

_I know you were dancing again. I know because I saw the shoes and I was told by Steve once. I know dancing made you happy, even though you'd never admit it. You always smiled slightly talking about it, though. Because I saw the shoes and I knew you were dancing again I'm happy because maybe you were too before you died. _

_Is it wrong to hate people because they were even somewhat involved in your death? Is it wrong to hate Nebula because she told us that the stone was there? Because that's what has happened to me. I feel angry, so angry I want to shoot an arrow through something, preferably human flesh. I know that's dark, Nat, but I miss you. I miss Budapest. I miss laughing with you. I miss joking around. I miss hugs. I miss everything, even the fights because then you were alive. _

_But Lila, Cooper, and Nate are okay. They're great, actually. Lila's best friend is now five years older than her, but they're still close as ever. She's almost as good as me with her shooting, and yesterday hit five bull's eyes in a row. In a row! Imagine that. Maybe she'll be the next Hawkeye. I'm not sure if I'd let her or not. I guess you could say I'm getting overprotective. We'd laugh it off and you'd joke that my dad side was coming up, better be careful before I start spewing bad jokes. Oh, wait, that's always been my quality. Clint, you were born a dad! _

_God, I'd do anything to do that again. You and Tony. Everyone misses you, you know, and Steve too because he's gone now. There's so much to catch you up on. _

Clint remembered that day in the rain when she'd rescued him from his killing spree and helped him to recover. To get his family back. She had rescued him more times than he could count. And when it had counted, he hadn't been able to save her. A sob escaped him, one he pushed to the back of his throat in an attempt to silence it because if you can't hear it, it must not be real. The pencil slipped from his fingers and the line that he'd wrote resounded in his mind that there was so much to catch her up on. If she were here, she'd probably be in the car, too, joking and talking and reminiscing too. There wouldn't be anything to catch her up on.

But she wasn't.

_You're not here and not caught up because of me, Nat. But I know you'd tell me to stop thinking that way because you died for a reason and it was not for me to go and start blaming myself. I guess I'll have to remind myself that more often. _

_And I'll catch you up more in my next letter. In the meantime, I have some sleep to get to. _

Clint sighed, feeling his position relax and his eyes close. Something he couldn't talk about, put down on paper. A burden lifted off his shoulders without it being shifted to someone else's. The kid was smarter than he knew.

Clint was starting to realize that, to quote himself, Nat didn't die for him to sulk and blame himself for it. She died so he could keep on living. Not just surviving, living, too. Living his life and helping his family live theirs.

_Thanks, Nat. _

_Clint _

"Thanks so much, Nat," he whispered. "Looking out for me even when you're not here." he started up the car again, shaking off the sleepiness to get to an inn or _something_.

His kids' snores reminding him why Nat had died for him and a burden sliding off his shoulders, and a mental letter being composed in his mind to his very best friend, Natasha Romanoff, he drove in the early Queens morning, bleary-eyed and smiling at old memories of he and his friend.

* * *

_**Yeesh, that was long and sappy- sorry, barely edited and such. **_

_**Anyway, thanks so much to the8horcrux for the review and genius idea! Hope you liked. **_


	3. Chapter 3: Bucky

James Buchanan Barnes had ended up on the roof of Sam's house. Again. He wasn't even sure _why _it was the roof of all the things. You'd think after all his experiences with heights he'd have a fear of places high up- after 'dying' the first time after Brainwashed Bucky had beat Steve to a pulp on a ship... Steve. Bucky blinked, unsure if the wet on his face had always been there. He wiped it away with his good hand. Crying wouldn't do Steve any good. Still, though. It had been so terrible to lose Steve right when he'd just gotten his best friend from Brooklyn back. The kid who wouldn't back away from a fight even if it meant he was going to die. The kid who was stubborn, right to the end.

_I'll be with you till the end of the line... _at first, Bucky had been alright with Steve leaving. Hey, he was happy, and that was what mattered, right?

Right?

Even if, he still found himself thinking, _To the e__nd of the line? Yeah, right, Steve_. He found himself glaring at the shield, the shield that Steve once wore so proudly. And look where that fucking shield had gotten him. Bucky wiped away the inevitable tears and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

After Steve had died, he had cut his hair. Looking in the mirror, he saw the Sergeant who had joined the army, proudly wearing his uniform. Who had been there alongside Steve even when he was a nobody from Brooklyn. It was nice to pretend that things were just fine, especially when the world was hell. He ran his hand through his short cut, remembering that time in the bar. Had he meant as much to Steve as Steve meant to him?

He studied his metal arm, his boots swinging over the edge of the roof. How could Steve stay by his side when he was this? So different from the Bucky he had known once-upon-a-time, when all Steve wanted to do was join the army? Was that why he'd left? Was Bucky why Steve was dead now?

Bucky shook his head at himself and furiously wiped at the tears. He had moved on. Bucky and Sam, two heroes parading around with a shield and cool weapons! Awesome, right? It hadn't felt right at first, without Steve. Bucky was sure Sam felt the same way, hated him even after the Winter Soldier incident. But they'd learned to get along.

Nobody could ever really replace Steve, though. Bucky slammed his fist into the roof, in a failed attempt to stop the tears that were already coming. He came up with a fist-sized dent in the rooftop and whatever-the-stuff-on-roofs-were-nowadays crumbling and falling to the ground... and hitting a guy on the head.

Clint. Clint, that was his name. "Man, what the hell-?" he whirled around, checking to see if his kids had heard. His daughter obviously had, raising an eyebrow at him but not saying anything else. Clint, relieved, looked up, taking off his sunglasses. "Bucky?"

Bucky waved, unsure of what else to do. "Hey."

Clint blinked, confused. "What're you doing up there?"

Bucky shrugged. Clint's daughter- Lelia? Lily? _Lila_, yeah, that was it- waved up at him. "Hi, Bucky," she called.

"Hi?" Bucky brushed some plaster from his hand. "I'll be down in a minute."

So that was how Bucky ended up sitting downstairs, outside, explaining to Sam why there was now a fist-sized dent in his roof and what he was even doing up there.

"I worry, man," Sam said, shaking his head. "I look for you, and you're not here, and then I learn you're on the roof! You could fall off."

Bucky was unfazed. "Hey, I've fallen before and survived then."

Sam was not impressed. "If you're talking about that one thing, then no, that does not apply here. I am no mad genius."

"I know."

Sam sighed. "Walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Yep," Lila called from the backyard, where she was shooting arrows into Sam's mailbox.

"What are you doing to my mailbox?" Sam asked, alert suddenly. "Hey!"

"Dad said that Bucky said that you said that I could not not not not shoot your mailbox," she explained, letting another arrow fly and straightening, looking confused. "Wait. You didn't say I could?"

Sam stopped. "What?" he recovered quickly, saying, "hey, you little punk, that doesn't mean you can!"

"Hey, blame dad-"

But Bucky wasn't listening to the rest of the argument. His mind was currently on noting similarities between this and a scene he had put up with for a long, long time. _Stop getting into fights, you little punk! _Bucky had said, to which Steve had protested he was fine. Apparently, "fine" meant a broken, bloody nose and an arm twisted at a weird angle to Steve.

Bucky stopped himself before he started crying like a wuss in front of everyone. He glanced at Clint, just to check if he had been obviously shaken. Clint wasn't even looking in his direction, eyes glued to a paper he was scribbling on with a sad smile on his face. From time to time, he'd glance to check on Lila, or Cooper, or Nate. Bucky had seldom seen Clint so serious before because he was always either smiling or joking or being totally not-serious at all, but now he seemed almost like he was going to burst into tears.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bucky asked, aware how out-of-character it might seem towards anyone who was Not-Steve.

Clint seemed surprised, though whether it was the gesture or the surprise from being discovered writing on the paper Bucky couldn't tell. "Yeah, I'm fine," he claimed, putting down his pencil.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "You don't look it. What were you writing, anyway?"

Clint looked at the paper, then back at Bucky. A silent argument seemed to go on in his head, but he finally sighed and handed it over. "Feast your eyes," he said in a bad Scottish accent. When Bucky gave him a strange look he smiled sheepishly and explained, "Cooper's in a _Brave _phase."

Bucky nodded. "Ah." he had no clue what a "Brave" was and felt it would be stupid to ask so he turned back to the paper.

_So we're visiting Bucky and Sam. Sam's pissed right now because Lila fired some arrows into his mailbox maybe or maybe not because I told her it would be okay. Would you get pissed too? I guess you would, but maybe not over a mailbox. You're scary when you're pissed, as I've learned before when pranking you ended up in me begging for mercy and traumatized for a week. Sam and Bucky are well _

Bucky looked up and back at Clint. "Is this... a letter?"

Clint nodded, relaxing. "Yeah. Nat."

Bucky inspected the paper again. "But... isn't she-?" he didn't continue, not wanting to come across as insensitive.

Clint shrugged. "Yeah. Got the idea from the kid, Peter. Remember him?"

"Yeah. Crazy kid, isn't he?"

"Mmm. Smarter than he knows, too... he came up with the idea, except to Tony, and it actually really helps." he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "Who knew that an eighteen-year-old kid had better advice than ten different therapists?"

Bucky gently put the paper down in front of Clint, deep in thought. "Well, he went through it. He'd know how to help it."

Clint wiped his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. Do you ever miss him?"

Bucky trained his eyes on a bush, not Clint's smiling, crying self because he had a feeling he'd break down, too. "Who?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well who.

"Steve."

Bucky dug his good hand's thumbnail into his index finger to stop the tears. "Yeah. A lot."

"Makes sense," Clint said, getting up and checking his watch. "You guys were really close, am I right?"

Bucky managed a smile he didn't really feel. "Right. Two kids from Brooklyn, one too stubborn to run from a fight and the other a sergeant in the army."

Clint slid on his sunglasses, which only made him look like those kids who'd get beat up by bullies for being weird. "Cool. Anyway, I got to go. Before it gets too dark, right? I made that mistake last night and ended up driving around for an hour..." he shuddered. "I almost fell asleep on the highway."

It was true; the sun was already sinking into the horizon, the sky darkening and shadows lengthening. Bucky clapped Clint on the shoulder. "Good luck out there, Hawkeye."

"Thanks, White Wolf." Clint held out his hand vertically, and Bucky was confused as to how to shake it.

"Um..."

"High five, White Wolf," Clint reminded him, grinning broadly.

"Yeah. That," Bucky said lamely, holding his hand in the same position. Rather than teaching him the mysterious art of high-fiving, Clint just slapped his hand against Bucky's metal one, wincing at the pain and massaging his hand.

"Ow." he turned to his kids. "Guys, time to go! Hug bye-bye Uncle Sam and Buck and let's head out!"

Lila, Nate, and Cooper all tackled him in a hug like it was planned (it probably was), ending up with Bucky at the bottom of a dog pile of squirming children and Sam looming over them, smiling. He took a photo, smirking.

"Don't you dare upload that to whatever internet thing you guys do nowadays," Bucky warned.

"Yeah, okay, grandpa Buck," Sam drawled, hitting some buttons on his phone thing.

After hugs to Uncle Sam and apologies for hurt mailboxes, the Bartons left, leaving Sam to realize they needed to make dinner and ending up going out to get a pizza, and Bucky retiring to the roof with his journal.

Soaking in the last bit of sun, Bucky sat on the roof and started to write in his journal, the one he'd kept trying to stitch together bits and pieces of memory and still kept when he needed help. Sometimes, no, not sometimes, most times, he wished Steve, not some lump of dead trees, were there to remind him. Well, the journal served a different purpose now.

He put the pencil to the paper, then hesitated. He wasn't sure what he was going to write. _Dear Steve _didn't sound right in his head, and anything formal or nice or letter-like really didn't. He sighed, tapping the end of the pencil against the paper. He remembered the drawings that Steve would scribble all over, constantly sketching. Bucky claimed that the noise was driving him crazy during the nighttime, but to be truthful he'd fall asleep to the sound. It was nice, too, seeing the end results. Bucky liked it when Steve would draw anything, but especially when he'd draw him- for whatever reason.

Bucky blinked, realizing that that right there was letter content. A letter was like a conversation, right? Like Barton's had been. He supposed that was where the comfort came from, the familiarity of it. He put his pencil to the paper and started again in his messy scrawl.

_Hey, Punk. _

_Just now I was thinking about your drawings. Remember that? When your scribbled-on-paper was all over the flat? Well, I thought that those drawings all looked perfectly fine to me. I don't think I ever told you that. I'm not so sure, though. I know you know my memory's mostly back, but sometimes I can't quite remember and I panic. I wish you were here because then I wouldn't get frustrated and punch holes in Sam's roof. I wish you hadn't gone back to see Carter, who had her own life in the makings already. I mean, come on, Steve. What the fuck happened to "I'm with you to the end of the line?" I know I shouldn't blame you, but the world seems... scarier, I guess, without you. __You were comforting, even when you were a little shrimp who got himself into fights and caught a different variation of the cold every week. It was nice, looking after you. Feeling like I wasn't alone. And Sam's here, but I miss you. You were always there, you know? From the start to the end of the line, I guess._

_Why did you have to go? You didn't have_ _to go. You didn't have to, Steve. You didn't have to. You didn't have to. _

Tears streamed down Bucky's face mixing with snot and his sobbing combined with this resulted in an ugly, weeping mess. He didn't bother to try and stop it, the pain and anger that he'd held for two years. The tears dripped onto the paper, smearing the words he'd written. _You didn't have to. _He cleared his throat and kept on going.

_Alright, punk, maybe you did. Maybe, for some reason, the family you'd made here wasn't enough. _

Bucky almost erased those words. They sounded bitter. No, they _were _bitter. He sighed and scribbled them out, starting the sentence again.

_Alright, punk, maybe you did. You had your own reasons for doing what you did. I understand. _

Though he didn't.

_I hope you had a good life with Carter. _

Though he didn't.

_As long as you're happy. _

Though it wasn't true. Bucky just wanted Steve back. He'd fix the rest. He erased the last words because he was pretty sure a letter full of lies wasn't going to help with anything.

_I've never been one to write letters, especially sappy ones like this one. See, I was going to say that I understood, hope you and Carter had a good life, and it was all good as long as you were happy. But that would be a lie. Because all I want is you back. There. Because you just got back and then you went away again, forever this time. _

_You know, the idea for this came from that kid, Peter. Spiderman? Remember? He liked my metal arm. I didn't tell you that, did I? He liked my metal arm and stopped it from punching him. I was going to punch him because I thought he was a twenty-something battle veteran. Turns out he was a little kid. I thought he was thirteen or something from his voice. And it reminded me of what those asses back in Brooklyn used to do to you, so that was how I ended up getting beat up by a fifteen-year-old kid. _

_There's so many things I never got to tell you that I wanted to. _

He decided not to mention that Steve had gone before he could.

_I miss you, punk. Sam does, too, though he doesn't show it. He probably thinks you, even I more deserve the shield, judging from the looks he gives me when he puts it on. Those don't happen as often now- I think he's grown to accept it- but it still does occasionally. We work as a team now. I think you'd be happy. Your two best buds, working together- finally. You know, he used to hate me after the Winter Soldier incident. But we work together now. I'm writing this from the roof of his house, actually. It's a nice house. I dented it accidentally. _

_I was thinking of you. I do a lot. But I don't cry because I don't want to show that I'm sad over you. It's stupid, yeah, but... I'm not over it. I'm crying right now, punk, right now because I miss you. God, I miss you. _

Bucky closed his eyes, letting the tears and the fading sobbing fit accompanying it go. When the shaking and sobbing was over, he turned his attention back to his letter, feeling slightly better. Almost as if with each drop of tears, snot, and each sob was the guilt, pain, regret, and anger washing away. He'd never really allowed himself to cry after Hydra. He'd never talked about it or wrote about it, either. Maybe that was why he'd felt so angry and depressed all the time.

_See, without you, I'm turning sappy. _

_Miss ya, Punk. _

_Buck _

Bucky felt much, much, much better now- apparently, it showed, because Sam gave him a strange look when he came back with the pizza and asked, "Man, are you high or something? Is there a prank?"

Bucky laughed, stealing a slice of pizza. "Nah. Just wrote a letter."

Sam took a bite of pizza. "Must be some magic letter, then."

Bucky smirked. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

* * *

_**'Kay, here we go, a bit more light-hearted I guess this time. Thanks to claresong87 for the idea! **_


End file.
